


Vent piece number 1

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Dark, Depression, I don’t fucking know alright, OCD, Self Harm, This is just some vent writing shit because I’m depressed, fear of failure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Look man, I’m just depressed and venting about it by projecting onto fictional characters. Don’t fuckin judge me.





	Vent piece number 1

Sebastian stared forlornly out the window, into the pitch black night sky. He felt so alone, so... depressed. His mom had always been a really good student, but Sebastian could never seem to live up to those expectations. He would forever be a disappointment, a failure. He looked down at his still-unmarred arm, then to the black blade in his hands. _I've never done this before, it's going to hurt, isn't it? But isn't this a coping mechanism for some people? It's worth a try, right?_ Sebastian sharpened the knife, and wiped down both it and his arm with an alcohol pad. He sucked in a breath in anticipation.

He brought the tip of the blade to the surface of his skin. Pressing down, he dragged it across his skin and watched, transfixed at the sight. Blood began to appear from the cut, albeit quite slowly as he didn’t try too hard on the first slice. Another slice, a little more blood. Another, and another. It... actually didn’t hurt that much. He kept going. When he was done, there were twenty cuts in total. The final three drew the most blood, which still wasn’t very much. Sebastian touched the small amount of blood that had pooled with his finger. He got out his sketchbook, and flipped to the last page, and pressed his finger into the paper, making sure to make a good mark. He then added the current date in pencil underneath it, with a count on top. He could tell. This was going to become a pattern.

As time went by, he began to notice the stinging pain from his arm, but he relished it, because it distracted him from his dark thoughts. The pain gave him a moment of clarity, a moment where he could think about something other than his crippling self-hatred and depression. The pain... he liked it. He _needed_ it. This was the start of a very dangerous and harmful habit. He was going to try it again tomorrow.


End file.
